


Roughhousing

by MikeWritesThings



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Biting, Canon-Typical Violence, Cock Tease, Death Threats, Established Relationship, Grinding, M/M, Making Out, Non-Explicit, Rough Kissing, Secret Relationship, Trans Octane | Octavio Silva, death threats but like it's sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikeWritesThings/pseuds/MikeWritesThings
Summary: Octavio is mad at him, and Taejoon doesn't know why, but it doesn't matter when his boyfriend has him pinned to the wall.
Relationships: Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Octane | Octavio Silva
Comments: 3
Kudos: 57





	Roughhousing

**Author's Note:**

> licherally just self indulgent stuff and also encouraged by siri and sol thank u guys for listening to my ramblings about taehyun . u deserve this . a gift for u <3 <3 <3
> 
> just kissing and stuff, nothing explicit :3c also not explicitly mentioned is the fact that octavio is trans, as he always is. enjoy !

Octavio is mad at him.

He doesn’t know why. Can’t pinpoint an exact reason, but sometimes Octavio just wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, so to speak. But it hardly ever shows; maybe his replies will be shorter, more clipped, but he’s still smiling as he does it. Still bouncing off the walls and cracking jokes.

It’s not so obvious when Octavio is in a bad mood as it is for, say, Taejoon himself. He knows that his lips turn down into a permanent scowl and that he looks unapproachable. His movements are stiff and his words drip venom—everybody can pick up on the fact that he doesn’t want to be talked to.

Octavio’s anger is a slow burn. By the time you notice that the other man is getting frustrated it’s too late—at that point all the other will do is bitch and complain or otherwise storm off, leaving you to wonder where it all went wrong.

He thinks Octavio’s been mad all week, but he’s not sure why, and he only picked up on it last night. His boyfriend is petty, and the night before he had gotten Taejoon worked up only to turn over and announce that he was going to sleep, leaving him to take care of himself. Not that there was anything wrong with the other man deciding that he wasn’t in the mood for something, but it had seemed very deliberate—and this was only confirmed when Taejoon got up awkwardly to go jerk off and he heard Octavio snicker quietly.

But that was last night. Currently it is Friday, the last Game of the week, and he sees his boyfriend jogging across a stretch of snowy terrain, headed straight for the respawn beacon at the Epicenter. Today is Duos, and his partner is getting antsy.

“I don’t like settin’ up out here, mate,” Rampart says, hand placed on her huge gun, which resides on her back. “Too exposed. Amped cover can’t do nothin’ if we’re getting shat on from above.”

She’s very eloquent.

“I see Octane,” he responds coolly as he aims down his Triple Take, the spread choked all the way. Octavio is alone and they’re in the top fifteen. How his partner (Loba, he thinks) is dead already he doesn’t know, but it’s been a pattern all week. Mirage was his squadmate two days in a row and complained about it. Not that Taejoon would ever admit to listening to his whiny voice, but Octavio has consistently been dying early-on this week.

He’d killed Octavio yesterday, too. Hot-dropped in Train Yard, fought over a Wingman, and put a bullet between his boyfriend’s eyes. Sent out a thermite to take care of Bangalore who was rushing to pick up his banner, while his own squadmate Gibraltar shot at Bloodhound. A split second later and all three of them were dead.

He doesn’t like killing Octavio, but it would be damning to let him live. Not when he has the other man in his sights right now, climbing up rusted, frozen metal to the respawn beacon. Their relationship is a secret, and should remain that way.

Even if if means killing him.

“What’re you waitin’ for, then? Shoot him,” Rampart eggs on, and he can hear her bouncing from foot to foot. “Then we can get a bloody move on.”

Taejoon lets out a small exhale as he adjusts his scope so that he’s aiming directly at Octavio’s head. The other man is stationary, something highly unusual for him. He’s respawning. In a short matter of seconds, Loba will be coming back, so he has a small window of time to kill him.

He hesitates for one more second.

_Yongseo haejuseyo._

Then fires.

He cracks the other man’s shields and takes a chunk of his health in one shot. Octavio yells, and with another shot, he’s dead. Squad eliminated.

It's abrupt. It's sudden. 

Hopefully, it was also painless.

“Great,” Rampart says blandly, unimpressed, as he puts his gun away. Solemn. “C'mon, we’re gonna set Sheila up before she freezes to my back.”

* * *

They typically avoid each other after matches to avoid suspicion, though he can’t help but feel like Octavio is avoiding him much more than usual today. He sees the man once, blinks, and then he’s gone. Decides to go home after a couple of minutes of making fun of Witt with the others. There’s really no reason for Taejoon to stick around—he and Ramya had finished top ten. Nothing to write home about.

He takes the train to their shared apartment. Well, ‘their’ apartment is actually just Octavio’s. Believe it or not, it’s nicer than Taejoon’s. Not because it’s cleaner or more well-decorated; just bigger thanks to the amount of money he has, from the Games and streaming and his own trust fund. His boyfriend claims to be over the lavish lifestyle, not suited for it, but Taejoon’s not sure about that. His apartment has a Jacuzzi, for Christ’s sake. He supposes that it’s a downgrade from a five-story mansion, but the cost of Octavio’s monthly rent is three times that of Taejoon’s. It’s almost frightening.

When Taejoon arrives it’s empty. Octavio isn’t back yet, which isn’t unusual. He likes sticking around to mess with the others. 

He takes off his jacket, places it neatly on the back of Octavio’s couch. It’s usually littered with chip bags, but Taejoon had cleaned it up a couple of days ago. He cards his fingers through his hair as he debates on whether or not he should take a shower. Decides as he’s taking off his boots that he probably should. He feels grimy.

He enters their bedroom, which is the messiest part of the apartment due to their combined mess. Though he likes to pretend otherwise, he’s just as guilty of leaving behind food cartons as Octavio is, though he makes an effort to clean up...once a week, that is. He makes a mental note to at least carry all the pizza boxes out to the trash as he takes off his vest and numerous belts, tossing them into a pile of clothes, the status of said clothes questionable, but most likely dirty. Or actually, that’s the clean pile, isn’t it? The dirty one is in the bathroom...

He’s just pulling his shirt over his head when he hears the front door open and then slam close. There’s a small framed photo of the two of them post-game hanging on the wall precariously from a thumbtack—it falls down due to the force of the door shutting. It’s not the first time this has happened, so there’s no shattering of glass. He bends down to pick it up, taking a moment to look at the two of them.

Octavio is beaming wide, and Taejoon himself has a small smile on his face. To the person who had taken the picture, they’re smiling like that because they had just won an impossible Duos match where the last circle had been six squads all grenade-spamming one another. To Taejoon, they’re smiling like that because they had kissed, for the first time, in the Cage. On the very top floor, Octavio’s mask pulled down, lips somehow sweet despite his _everything else._ It’s a good memory. 

Octavio tells him he’s a sap for keeping this picture. He’s right.

He puts it back up on the wall and sighs to himself before leaving the room. Judging by the slamming of the front door, Octavio is pissed.

“ _Wasseo?_ " Taejoon says quietly as he enters the living room, where Octavio has already tossed his goggles and helmet to the ground.

“Wasseo,” Octavio mocks beneath his breath, bent down to undo his harness, and Taejoon is more impressed with the other’s pronunciation than anything else. “Yes, I’m _back_. It’s _my_ apartment.”

Ah. So he’s _really_ mad.

He slides his hands into his pockets awkwardly, watches Octavio tear off his belt with shaking hands before asking,

“What happened?”

Octavio straightens up. He’s glaring, which he’s never really done before. Not at Taejoon, anyways. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man so agitated.

It’s...almost cute.

Like a cat.

“I dunno,” Octavio says, voice practically dripping with sarcasm. “It’s not like you killed me today or anything. _Again_.”

There’s a pause.

“ _That’s_ why you’re angry?” Taejoon asks, trying not to sound amused, but he can’t help it. They’ve killed each other dozens of times, it’s inevitable in this line of work—so he doesn’t know why Octavio is so mad about it today. There was once a week where Octavio had killed him three days in a row, and his boyfriend had thought it to be the most hilarious thing in the world. This seems rather hypocritical.

“You know I’ve done _shit_ this week,” Octavio replies shortly as he pushes past Taejoon, making a beeline for the fridge.

“And you’re mad at me because you’ve been performing poorly?”

Octavio doesn’t answer him, just pops the tab of a can of beer and downs half of it in a couple of gulps. His fingers are tapping against the fridge and his face is red, though Taejoon doesn’t know if it’s from anger or the fact that Octavio likes jogging home.

“Octavio,” Taejoon says after a stretch of silence, and his boyfriend wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before placing the can back in the fridge. It’s an awful habit. The thing’s full of unfinished drinks because of it. “Are you...”

He considers for a moment taking this situation seriously. Assumes that Octavio has grown uncomfortable with the idea of being killed by Taejoon, which is fair. It took himself several matches to fight back the bile that rises to his throat whenever he has the other’s blood on his hands. Maybe it was easier for Octavio back then when this relationship was nothing more than heated kisses in a hall closet, but now that they live together, spend every night lying next to each other, it’s harder. It’s sickening.

That’s how he decides to approach this situation. That’s the assumption he makes, and he strides the room to stand next to his boyfriend, places a gentle hand on his shoulder—but then Octavio rips himself away from him, mumbling something out in Spanish.

“Octavio,” Taejoon repeats, and then his boyfriend snaps at him,

“Leave me alone.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Octavio says something in Spanish again that sounds like a swear. Rolls his eyes and ignores Taejoon until he repeats the man’s name again, and then Octavio is rounding on him, eyes narrowed.

“You do it on purpose,” he accuses, and Taejoon raises an eyebrow. 

“Kill you?”

“Yes!” Octavio throws his hands up in the air, as if Taejoon has finally gotten it. As if he had expected Taejoon to read his mind this whole time. “Kill me every _fucking_ round when I haven’t even had the chance to _do_ anything!"

“That is patently not true,” Taejoon tells him, because it’s not. For _this_ week, maybe, but even then he’d only killed his boyfriend twice. “And even if it were—so what?”

“It means all my streams have only lasted—”

_Streams._

Taejoon can’t help it. He smiles, wide and relieved, because that’s it? That’s what he’s mad about?

“Why are you laughing?” Octavio demands, and fuck, that’s adorable.

“Your streams?” Taejoon asks, tries to fight back the laugh in his voice, but it’s difficult. It’s genuinely funny that his boyfriend is mad simply because he doesn’t have enough content for his streaming. “That’s why you’re angry?”

“It’s not just that,” Octavio said, but his face is definitely getting redder now. “Stop laughing.”

Taejoon bites the inside of his cheek. Takes one hand out of his pocket and slides it through his hair, trying to force his expression back into one of neutrality, but he just can’t help but smile. It’s mostly out of relief. He’d been scared that his boyfriend was hurting due to this situation, their relationship—but it’s just something silly. Inconsequential.

“Stop laughing!” Octavio repeats, louder, and then with a stomping of metal feet he’s approaching Taejoon until Taejoon is backed up against the wall, lips still tilting up at the corners. “You’re laughing at me!”

“I am not,” he says, but his smile probably doesn’t help the other’s mood. “It’s just—”

His boyfriend is glaring up at him, red-faced, mouth turned down at the corners and eyes narrowed. He really does look sour, but the whole situation is just funny. And it’s not helped by the fact that Octavio is shorter than him. Height doesn’t indicate how scary someone can be—Wraith is terrifying as the shortest Legend, after all—but something about Octavio having to look up at him as he tries to appear intimidating is too funny to Taejoon.

It’s _cute_.

His boyfriend moves so fast that he blinks and misses it—one moment he’s just standing there, fists curled at his sides, and the next he’s shoving his forearm against Taejoon’s chest and pressing him right against the wall.

“You’re not taking me seriously,” Octavio hisses, almost spits. Taejoon’s heartbeat has picked up in his chest, and he’s sure Octavio can feel it because he’s not even wearing a shirt. He's suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed he is.

“I am,” Taejoon lies, and Octavio glares at him some more before moving his arm. He’s now pressing against the column of Taejoon’s throat, not hard enough to choke him, but it does make his breathing stutter a bit from their close proximity. Something changes in Octavio’s eyes.

"I'm better than you," Octavio says, and Taejoon arches an eyebrow. So now they're making petty comparisons? "I actually got _initiated_ into the Games."

"Perhaps," Taejoon says quietly, voice a rumble in his throat, and Octavio presses against it harder. "But in a real fight I could win easily."

There's silence after that. He stares at the other, who seems to be chewing on the inside of his cheek as he stares right back. His fingers have curled into the wall behind him, anticipation thrumming inside of him as their eyes lock. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, but he recognizes the glint in Octavio’s eyes, and his blood is running hot. 

Octavio lets his arm drop, but his hands find themselves on Taejoon’s hips—before sliding back, past his ass, as his boyfriend suddenly bends his knees and manages to lift Taejoon up into the air. He scrambles for purchase against the wall, afraid that he’s about to fall over, but all he does is slide down a little until he’s nose-to-nose with Octavio, his legs up in the air.

“You’re not laughing now,” Octavio says. He sounds like he’s trying to be intimidating still, but there’s a little bit of smugness in his voice. Evidently he’s proud of himself for achieving this.

“You’re...” Taejoon glances down between them, breathing coming out a little heavier. He feels hot everywhere. He wants to say that Octavio is stronger than he looks, but he’s not sure if that will bode well currently.

“Shut up,” his boyfriend says, leaning so close that their lips touch, and Taejoon instinctively parts his mouth to let the other man kiss him. It’s the right move to make; Octavio surges forward, knocks Taejoon's head against the wall with the force of it, but he doesn't care. He kisses him ferociously, fingers digging into the meat of Taejoon’s thighs while he himself grips Octavio’s shoulders, unsure of what to do with his hands.

He wants them to wander, wants to touch Octavio in the places he likes best, but it's a little hard in this position. They’ve been in it before, but it had been Taejoon holding Octavio up. He shudders at the memory of Octavio’s nails scratching down his back and does the same, hopes he finds it as hot as he did, and he’s rewarded with Octavio groaning into his mouth. 

Octavio always kisses rough, eager to get to _the good part_ , as he would call it, but this time is a little different. Taejoon pulls away for breath, barely gets an inhale in before Octavio is biting harshly on his lower lip and his tongue is back in his mouth. It's heated, aggressive, and it’s _good_. He likes this, always likes it when Octavio takes control.

Octavio’s hands shift so that he’s now gripping Taejoon’s ass tightly, his legs wrapped around the other's torso to help keep him upright. This position feels unstable, but the way Octavio is squeezing him grounds him. He likes it, moans into his his mouth as his heat pools into his belly, and Octavio rolls his hips once against his.

His nails are still digging into Octavio’s back when he’s suddenly pulled away from the wall, and Taejoon lets out an involuntary gasp as he clutches his boyfriend tightly.

He’s afraid that they’re going to fall over—strong or not, Octavio is nearly five inches shorter than him—but his boyfriend carries him effortlessly from the kitchen and into their bedroom, where he kicks the door shut behind him. The photograph falls to the ground again, but neither of them care as Taejoon is practically thrown onto the bed and Octavio clambers on top of him.

“It’s hard—” Octavio grips his hips, shifting their positions a bit before taking Taejoon’s wrists, and he allows them to be guided until they’re pinned above his head. “—to be mad when you’re _shirtless_.”

“My secret plan worked, then,” Taejoon says around a grin, but groans when Octavio presses his metal knee between his legs.

“I told you to _shut up,_ ” Octavio hisses, voice barely above a scratchy whisper, before he’s kissing Taejoon again. Not so rough this time, but only because it’s sloppy—he clearly has other things in mind, and this is proven true when Octavio moves his lips to mouth at Taejoon’s jaw. Down his throat, which he barely feels, because of the metal covering it. He can’t imagine that it’s comfortable for Octavio—the metal is soft, but cold. He likes kissing Octavio's neck and hearing him whine and gasp, but Taejoon's own neck isn't sensitive like that.

But then Octavio stops at his collarbones, moving one hand from pinning Taejoon’s wrists above his head down to touch him instead. His fingers trace feather-light over his stomach, causing Taejoon to jerk, slightly ticklish. It feels good, and it feels even better when Octavio runs those same fingers over his chest, letting his nails graze him slightly. A question burns at the back of his throat, but he keeps his mouth shut, eager to see what Octavio does from here.

He finds out as soon as Octavio kisses him where he had stopped—pressing his lips against a collarbone, his nails now digging into Taejoon’s chest while his other hand keeps a tight grip on his wrists, almost bruising. He bites on his lower lip as Octavio keeps kissing him, mouth hot against his skin as he jerks a little beneath his touch.

Taejoon's half-hard in his pants, but he almost doesn't notice with the way Octavio touches him, teeth grazing his skin lightly but not going any further than that. He seems content with marking him this way, and Taejoon half-wishes his hands were free so that he could touch himself where he likes best—or at least guide Octavio's hands to those places.

As if reading his mind his boyfriend finally lets go of them, but Taejoon ends up not moving. Keeps them positioned above him as Octavio goes from straddling his stomach to hovering dangerously close to his crotch, sitting on top of his thighs instead, which ache a little from earlier.

"Good boy." Octavio seems pleased with his silent obedience and kisses him again, this time directly on his chest, making Taejoon’s body twitch a little as he swallows back a gasp; it feels good to have his chest touched, always has. It was perhaps the most sensitive part of his body.

Octavio knows this, which is why after a few minutes of pressing kisses to every part of his chest he takes Taejoon’s skin between his teeth and bites. He gasps out loud this time, surprised but not really—he had expected it, but just hadn’t known _when_ it would happen.

His hands move on their own, one sliding into Octavio’s hair and the other placing itself on top of Octavio’s hand, whose fingers were still scratching deep red marks onto the left side of his chest as he kisses the right. Octavio doesn’t say anything about him moving his hands, just makes a growling noise in his throat, and _fuck_ , that’s hot. That’s the hottest thing he’s done all night.

Taejoon tries not to fall apart as Octavio sucks more bruises into his flesh, tempted to grip the other man’s hips and seek out more friction. This is _good_ and he almost doesn’t want it to stop, but he also wants _more_ —and Octavio seems to sense that, because he himself grabs Taejoon’s hips and takes a break from biting Taejoon to say,

“You like that?”

He nods wordlessly, and he can _hear_ the stupid grin in Octavio’s voice as he teases,

“You want some more?”

Octavio grinds down onto him, and it's _hot._

“ _Ssibal_ ,” Taejoon groans, back arching as the nails of the other’s hand graze over the bite marks on his chest. Octavio laughs at him, gyrates again, and his blood is on fire as he pants, “Octavio—”

“Did I say you could talk?” Octavio demands, but its intensity is lost due to the fact that there’s still humor coloring his voice. Taejoon doesn’t answer, just sits up to kiss his boyfriend and nearly ends up shoving him off by accident. He wraps his arms around Octavio’s waist, keeping him steady as they kiss, bruising and _intense_ and heated. 

He loves kissing like this, is almost afraid to admit it, but Octavio is so rough and jagged around the edges that this suits him more than anything. It gets his boyfriend going, eager to take all that he wants out of Taejoon, and he's willing to give him everything he has. 

The hand not braced up against his chest slides into his hair and pulls, and Taejoon gasps a little at the way it hurts—stings, burns, but it’s so delicious, just like the way Octavio had taken his skin between his teeth and bitten him until he was bruised. 

Octavio tugs at him, so harshly that his head is yanked back and it leaves his throat exposed. Some mixture of fear and arousal thrums inside of Taejoon at this action, almost scared that _something_ is going to happen to him, but he knows that nothing will. He trusts Octavio, though he almost wishes that he'd do something to him.

Maybe he's rubbing off on him.

“You and me,” his boyfriend breathes against his skin, and Taejoon shudders, feeling heated everywhere. “One-on-one.”

Octavio starts rolling his hips, and he can’t fucking focus, can only bite back a moan when he continues, “No hacks. No cheats.”

His boyfriend is grinding down on him again, and his head is spinning, blood rushing hot in his veins down south. He grits his teeth, slides his hands from Octavio’s waist to his muscled thighs, letting his nails dig grooves into his skin as he continues moving without stop. There's a pent-up feeling inside of him just begging to be released, but he holds it back, lets the man toy with him the way he wants.

“Just us in the Ring,” Octavio says quietly, breathy against Taejoon’s jaw, before his head is being forced into position by the other and his mouth is almost on his, breath fanning across Taejoon's face. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

It’s a threat, it’s a promise, and it’s fucking hot. 

Taejoon knows that his lips must be swollen by this point, bitten and bruised as Octavio practically crashes their mouths together, but he doesn't care. The hand on the back of Taejoon's head holds him steady to prevent him from breaking away, but he doesn't even want to; every bit of Octavio is ferocious tonight, and he loves it.

He wants to touch his boyfriend, return the all-too pleasing favor—lets his hands move from his thighs to his ass, kneads his fingers there and is rewarded with Octavio groaning in his mouth and the fist in his hair tugging even harder. Their hips are still moving in tandem, and it's pleasurable even through their layers of clothes, but it's not _enough._

He considers slipping his fingers past the waistband of Octavio's shorts, wants to draw more noises out of him, tease him into taking this a step further, but suddenly his boyfriend is pushing him back down so that he's lying on the bed again, his rough hand sliding against Taejoon's chest before stopping to thumb at his nipple, which makes him groan past grit teeth. _Fuck._

"You've been good," Octavio hums, metal knees digging into Taejoon's hips, and he bites on his tongue to keep himself from speaking. Probably won't even be able to muster up words at this point, he's too out of breath. "Maybe I'll forgive you for today, cariño."

The hand on his chest moves so that it's now gripping Taejoon's jaw, fingers squeezing it harshly. His thumb brushes against his lower lip, and Taejoon swears that he's never been more aroused in his life. He's almost afraid, but that's _exciting,_ more exciting than he had thought it would be.

Octavio is still straddling him, and he could easily buck his hips up, seek out some much-needed friction because he's _aching_ between his legs and he wants _more_ —but then suddenly Octavio lets go of him. He stretches his arms above his head, shifting so that his ass is now on top of Taejoon's crotch and causing his back to arch at the sudden contact with a moan.

"I'm tired," Octavio yawns, before rolling off of Taejoon and the bed. Stunned, Taejoon just lays there, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. He hasn't quite processed what has happened yet, chest still heaving and head spinning. He then sits up and watches as his boyfriend wiggles out of his shorts and tosses them into the pile of clothes. So it _is_ the dirty pile after all.

"You—" Taejoon says, but he's unable to find his words, not sure he can even speak properly. His ears are ringing, and he feels like he's been smacked.

"I'm gonna take a shower." Octavio grabs a towel from the back of Taejoon's desk chair and throws it over his shoulder, cocking his hip in a deliberate way so that his eyes are drawn to his ass. His boyfriend isn't facing him, but he knows, he _swears_ , that there must be a stupid fucking grin on his face. "Buenas noches."

Taejoon gapes, in shock, before frustration burns inside of him and he grabs at one of their pillows.

"Octavio Silva!" He half-shouts, because his voice is high and it cracks in the middle. He throws the pillow after his boyfriend, but Octavio closes the bathroom door behind him before it can hit him and the pillow falls to the ground. He can hear Octavio's cackling from behind the door.

Taejoon falls back onto the bed, still trying to catch his breath and one hand sliding through his hair. His scalp burns from the force Octavio had used to tug at it, and even worse is the aching sensation between his legs, hot and almost painful.

Fucking.

_Octavio._

Maybe it was for revenge. Maybe they were even now, in Octavio's eyes—but he wasn't going to forget this. How his boyfriend had touched him, teased him in all the way he likes only to pull away at the very last moment. He'd have to return the favor somehow.

_An eye for an eye._

**Author's Note:**

> yongseo haejuseyo: please forgive me  
> wasseo: you’re back/welcome back  
> ssibal: fuck
> 
> oh to be pinned to the wall by a 5'5 twink and kissed
> 
> anyways i think octane has a tough time dealing with anger and talking it out with people because he's used to being neglected/ignored so he just lets it stew until he blows up. or in this case, touches his boyfriend's tiddies. also he's petty WENKJFKFN


End file.
